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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526563">took an oath by the blood of my hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/j2mslittlebitch/pseuds/theweepingmonk'>theweepingmonk (j2mslittlebitch)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cursed (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:48:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/j2mslittlebitch/pseuds/theweepingmonk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He had been called The Weeping Monk for so long he had all but forgotten the name he was born with and it sounded stale and wrong on his tongue as he murmured it to the child he held protectively in front of him. Percival, or Squirrel as he preferred, had saved his life. The child had distracted the Holy Trinity knight from the killing blow, allowing the cloaked monk enough time to reach for his sword and his will to survive and slaughter the last of them. He could barely stand by the time the deed was done and it had been Squirrel who had grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and dragged him towards his horse, who as if sensing his distress, had galloped through the smoke to halt nearby. He had dragged himself into the saddle, grunting in pain and then pulled Squirrel up in front of him, cradling him protectively against his wounded and bloodied chest.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>The start of Lancelot's redemption.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lancelot &amp; Percival (Cursed), Lancelot/Pym (Cursed)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>187</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was going to die.  </p>
<p>“Healer.”</p>
<p>He wanted to die.</p>
<p>“Please, we need a healer.”</p>
<p>Pain was an old friend but this was agony.</p>
<p>“Move. Who - why did you bring <i>him</i> here?”</p>
<p>He felt the hood ripped from his head, his swords snatched from his hip.</p>
<p>“Please. He is one of us. He saved me.”</p>
<p>There was a warm hand on his chest, pushing on the ripped and torn flesh.</p>
<p>“He killed <i>everyone</i>.”</p>
<p>He screamed aloud when hands dragged him off the ground, he screamed aloud again as he was dropped roughly onto a hard surface.</p>
<p>“Please Pym, save him.</p>
<p>He couldn’t open his eyes, he wanted to but he couldn’t force them open.</p>
<p>“Shit, look at him. The wounds, Squirrel what happened?”</p>
<p>Those hands were there again, gentler this time, moving to untangle his cloak from around his neck and lift his shirt up to gain access to the ruined flesh beneath.</p>
<p>“He cut me free. He fought an <i>entire army</i> so I could escape. So we could escape.”</p>
<p>He screamed when a wet cloth ran over his wounds, tears squeezing through his clenched eye lids to roll down his cheeks over the dark marks under his eyes.</p>
<p>“Squirrel, he killed our <i>family</i>.”</p>
<p>He had felt pain before, unbearable pain but this agony made him wish for the fires of hell to reach up and swallow him.</p>
<p>“Pym, he is Fey. He is our brother.”</p>
<p>He heard nothing more. Finally there was silence.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pym hated the idea of having The Weeping Monk in their camp, let alone in her tent. Squirrel had insisted on keeping the unconscious man close and she had never been able to say no to the boy. She knew he didn’t trust some of the other Fey around him, some Fey were not peace loving Folk and The Weeping Monk, <i>Lancelot</i> Squirrel corrected, had caused a lot of heart ache among them.</p>
<p>He had been asleep now for three days and Pym wasn’t even sure if he would wake up, she had become a decent healer in her time with the raiders but his wounds had been extensive and horrible under his clothing and she had done her best but she wasn’t sure if her best would be good enough. Squirrel would barely leave his side, only slipping away when Pym promised to stay in the tent, long enough to eat.</p>
<p>She was sitting alone in the tent one the third eve of The Weeping Monk arriving when he stirred in his sleep and his breathing quickened. Pym stood quickly and approached the cot where he was lying. She reached a hand out and placed it on his forehead, it was cool for the first time in 2 days and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disgusted she had managed to save his life. </p>
<p>She reached for the rag in the bucket by the bed and squeezed the excess water out before running it over the healing wounds on his face and chest, he had started to heal remarkable quickly once his wounds were thoroughly cleaned out though Pym knew he was still going to hurt when he woke up. The patchwork of cuts on his back had been badly infected and it had turned her stomach when she had rolled him over and seen them, she had hated herself at the thought but she had felt <i>sorry</i> for the man.</p>
<p>She continued to mop the old blood and scrape the herb salve from his wounds. She replaced the salve on the wounds that needed it and left the cleaner ones to breathe. She couldn’t help but wonder where the scars that littered his bare chest and back had come from, he had never received proper healing if they were anything to go by. She thought the cursed church would have taken more care of the sharpest sword they wielded but clearly not.</p>
<p>She could understand why he was like he was, if he had been tortured and conditioned from a young age. She couldn’t make excuses for him but she could imagine how difficult it would have been for a child to suffer and not try and make it stop. She had seen how the attitude of the Folk in the village had effected Nimue, she had seen Nimue try and run away to get away from the pain but Nimue had been lucky to have her mother in her corner, things could have been so different if she was alone like The Weeping Monk had been.</p>
<p>Squirrel returning startled her from her thoughts and she dropped the soiled rag back into the bucket, pulling the heavy woolen blanket up and over the monks chest before turning to the child and trying to muster a smile.</p>
<p>“Did you eat?”</p>
<p>Squirrel rolled his eyes, “Of course I did. How is Lancelot?”</p>
<p>“His fever has broken,” she scrubbed the fly away hairs back from her face, “I think he will be fine.”</p>
<p>Pym watched Squirrel’s shoulders drop as he smiled, she knew the boy had defended the monk. He had told everyone the story of the battle with the Holy Trinity and the following ride, anyone who would listen learned exactly how the monk had killed them, exactly how Squirrel had thrown the rock to by the man time and exactly how the monk had reached for his sword and dispatched the remaining knights. She knew he cared for the monk, no matter how misguided those feelings were. Pym knew Squirrel had lost his parents long before the purging of their village and she suspected that  the monk showing Squirrel a small amount of kindness was enough for him to see the older man as a father figure.</p>
<p>“You should sleep Squirrel,” Pym stood up from where she was knelt beside the monks cot and dimmed the lantern as she ushered the young boy into his own cot, “tomorrow we must move. The Red Palladins are still out there and now we harbour their weapon, they are sure to be searching for him.”</p>
<p>“We can’t abandon him, Pym. He has no one else.” Squirrels voice was soft under his blanket cocoon. “We are his family now.”</p>
<p>The words caused Pym’s chest to tighten. She didn’t want to be the monsters <i>family</i>, she wanted to cast him from her tent and her life and never think of him again but he was Fey and as much as it disgusted her, Squirrel was right, he could not be cast out as he was part of the Fey family.</p>
<p>“Squirrel, we will not abandon him, now sleep.” Pym sat on the edge of her own cot that was located between the monk and Squirrels. She hadn’t slept well with the monk in her tent and she was tired, the kind of bone tired that made her ache and her eyes dry and scratchy.</p>
<p>She reached down and untied the laces on her boots and slipped them off. She flopped back down onto her own cot and pulled her blanket up to her chin, trying to fight off the chill in their air. As much as she wanted to sleep, it eluded her though as Squirrel started to snore gently and the monk stirred again, murmuring brokenly in his own sleep. She sighed softly and rolled onto her side to watch the monk in the near darkness, he was restless now twitching and shifting in the cot. Not yet ready to wake but not sleeping as deep as he had been, Pym had seen a few raiders in this kind of restless slumber after receiving injuries that required some time to heal.</p>
<p>She could hear sounds outside the tent, she could hear raiders laughing and drinking by the fire and she could hear other Fey talking and laughing, taking pleasure in the fact they had survived another night. Pym couldn’t find the same joy within herself, not with the monk lying next to her, painting a big red target on her back. She shifted in her cot again, trying to get comfortable and trying to find the courage to close her eyes.</p>
<p>She wasn’t sure exactly what time she finally dozed off but the birds had started singing and there was light shining through the slit on the tent door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing he felt was blinding pain, pain in his chest, pain in his head, pain crackled across his skin like electricity. He could feel the fires of hell licking at his heels, trying to drag him down into the fiery depths. He hoped for it, he longed for it. The second thing he became aware of was gentle hands on his burning skin. He had never been touched like that, with a softness and kindness he didn’t deserve. His eyes wouldn’t open for the longest time, he fought against the darkness and forced them open, blinking into the light that suddenly streamed through his darkness.</p><p>“He’s waking up.”</p><p>“I can see that, Squirrel. Go and fetch some fresh water.”</p><p>“But..-”</p><p>“Go now.” There was silence for a moment before a wet rag touched his forehead, “Do you hurt?”</p><p>Lancelot answered with a groan, leaning up and dry retching over the side of the cot though his stomach was empty of anything to bring back up. He tried to lower himself down slowly but his arms gave way and he fell back hard against the rough woolen blanket that had cocooned him.</p><p>“I-” his voice was low and murmured, dry from lack of use. “Yes.”</p><p>Pym’s face swam into view as she leaned over him and inspected his eyes now that he had managed to open them. Her wide eyes gave nothing away as she stepped backwards and offered him a hand to help him into a sitting position. He had just managed to rearrange himself into a sitting position when Squirrel flew through the door, water splashing haphazardly from the bucket he carried. Lancelot watched him drop the bucket and suddenly had his arms full of Squirrel, he grunted at the impact and stared helpless over the boys head to Pym, trying to figure out what to do. He had never been shown affection, nothing was ever so freely given from the church. Lancelot was almost certain his obvious discomfort gave a small amount of pleasure to Pym, her eyebrows lifted for a moment and one corner of her mouth tilted. </p><p>He coughed a little, using it as an excuse to remove Squirrel from himself, “Careful boy.”</p><p>Pym reached out a hand and guided Squirrel back a couple of steps, “Can you go and ready the horses, we will get on the road as soon as The Weep- <i>Lancelot</i> is able.”</p><p>Lancelot caught the fumble though he didn’t blame her, he had trouble likening himself to that small boy who played in the fields with his mother and explored to woods with his siblings that had been borne with that name. He had earned the vile title of The Weeping Monk and it would a long time for him to earn the name Lancelot.</p><p>Squirrel was going to protest the request but Pym shook her head and he nodded, backing out of the tent and disappearing into the sunlight. She turned back to Lancelot who suddenly felt incredibly self conscious under her gaze, he was bare chested and unarmed, more venerable then he had ever let himself be from the day he had been taken by the church.</p><p>Pym just eyed him for a moment, “Do you think you can ride? I want to leave as soon as we can.”</p><p><i>To keep him away from the other Fey</i>, it was unsaid but Lancelot heard it never the less. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could stand let alone ride but he nodded slowly anyway. He watched as Pym busied herself collecting his clothing and dropping it on his cot. His cloak was there, his light jerkin and his boots. He seen no iron amongst the material and leather.</p><p>When Pym turned away and started packing her belongs, he struggled his feet and reached for his jerkin, grunting in effort as he pulled it on and fasted it. His cloak was next, it settled on his shoulders like a lovers touch and he felt a little more protected with it surrounding him. He sat back down and leaned down to pull his boots on, his cowl falling forwards and covering his face. He looked up and stood slowly, reaching down to pick up a satchel that Pym had dropped by the door.</p><p>Pym turned to him and jerked backwards, gasping and pressing a hand to her breast. “You need to take that off!” She waved a hand at his head and he reached up and pushed the cowl off his head. “You can’t wear that around here, there’s too many that have suffered at your hands and seeing you like that, it’s going to upset some people.”</p><p>Lancelot nodded quietly and watched as she picked up her own back and reached under her cot to pull out his swords. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief to see them, his mind was fuzzy and his memories were blurry of the night he and Squirrel had made their escape and he had been concerned perhaps he had left them behind. He didn’t ask for them, he knew no one trusted him to allow him to be armed and he didn’t blame them.</p><p>When he and Pym exited the tent, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright light. He took a moment to glance around the sandy Fey camp. Several sets of eyes followed him, some were curious and others murderous while others ignored him completely while they went about their business as they pulled their tents down and loaded the supplies into wagons and onto horse back. Pym didn’t seem to be concerned about pulling her tent down, she marched straight for the horses - hers a big grey and his Goliath, his big black steed who had carried into and out of more battles then he was comfortable to admit. She busied herself and attached his swords to her saddle, he could see his long bow also attached. </p><p>Squirrel handed Goliath’s rein to Lancelot and the monk pressed a hand against the big horses face, and he could feel the horses love and loyalty and it almost made Lancelot smile. He rubbed a hand down the horses muzzle, scratched his nails along the horses neck and scratched his fingers through his mane before he pressed his weight into the stirrup to make sure the saddle was secure. When it didn’t slide, he lined himself up and took a deep breath before reaching his boot up and into the stirrup and dragging himself into the saddle with a pained grunt. Goliath was still until Lancelot had settled in the saddle and reached forwards to pat his gleaming shoulder.</p><p>Pym mounted her big horses and reached down for Squirrel but he darted around and up to Lancelot on Goliath’s left side. Lancelot’s glanced flicked over to Pym and seen the disapproving glare but he leaned down and grasped the boys hand, hauling him up onto Goliath in front of him. Once Squirrel was settled, Pym clicked her horse forwards and Lancelot followed suit, the trio leaving the safety of the camp with for the first time in days.</p><p>They rode in silence for an hour before Squirrel’s little body went lax against Lancelot as he fell asleep. Lancelot used his free hand to wrap his cloak around the boy to try and protect him from the chilly wind that picked up as the rode along the coast line towards the forest. He knew the gesture didn’t go unseen by the look Pym gave him.</p><p>“What are your intentions?” Pym’s voice carried confidently over the ocean and the wind.</p><p>“My intentions?” Lancelot asked softly.</p><p>“Are you going to murder us all in our sleep?” </p><p>“No.” He wanted to be offended by the question, he had turned his back on his brothers to save Squirrel but it had been his fault the boy had been in that camp in first place, he had been the one that had brought the Green Knight in and Squirrel had tracked him all the way to the camp. He was the one that blindly followed orders throughout this mass execution. He had only been a child of seven years when Father Carden had found him when they murdered his family. He had his magic and his heritage beaten out of him quickly as a child and he followed <i>God’s calling</i> for thirteen years without question.</p><p>“No. I- I owe you my life. I am indebted to you.”</p><p>Lancelot watched as Pym frowned before looking forward again, the conversation obviously forfeit. Lancelot tugged the cloak tighter around his shoulders and around the boy leaning against him before turning his eyes back to the trail ahead of them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you are all enjoying this so far, I am enjoying writing it and I feel like The Weeping Monk/Lancelot, Pym and Squirrel are going to be such a fun trio to explore. Just wanted to let you know, this story is unbeta'd so let me know if you see any glaring errors because i write late at night and sometimes skip over them.</p><p>Another thing i wanted to touch on really quickly, I know Lancelot left his swords behind but i love the symbolism of them and have a moment planned a little down the track for them so i needed, in this story, for him to bring them with him.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She didn’t want him to be debt to her, she wanted him out of her life. He had said the words so simply, like she was a half wit for not realizing he had some sort of a misguided idea he owed her a debt of saving his life. She didn’t save his life for him, she saved it for Squirrel and she wished she had the heart to spit that at him, even as she watched him wrap the boy tighter in that disgusting cloak he wore. If he was going to stick around, she was going to find him another somewhere. When she had turned in the tent to see the Weeping Monk behind her, her heart had nearly stopped. She’d find him a colourful one, perhaps a dark blue to match his eyes.</p>
<p><i>To match his eyes?</i> She pressed a finger to the small ache developing between her eyes, how did she even know the colour of his eyes, she hadn’t looked that closely. She didn’t care for the colour of his eyes, she just wanted him rid of the goddamn cloak that haunted her nightmares.</p>
<p>She tried to not look at them, Lancelot and Squirrel. The boy was tucked tightly into Lancelot’s chest with his nose turned and pressed into the line of that cloak and Pym felt bad for him. It had been a long hard few weeks for all of them and Squirrel was only a child, as much as he wanted every one to believe otherwise and Pym was worried that it had been too much for the boy. He had become incredibly attached to and over protective of Lancelot very quickly and Pym didn’t want to see him hurt when, <i>if</i>, Lancelot turns on them.</p>
<p>His weapons felt heavy behind her thigh on her saddle, she was useless with a sword and could maybe shoot a sleeping doe with a bow but she wasn’t sure she trusted him with his weapons. Of course, if he wanted to kill them he wouldn’t need the iron but Pym could trick herself into believing she had some sort of control over this situation.</p>
<p>They reached a small village that had an inn and Pym halted Old Boy and watched Lancelot halt his big horse. They were to stay here for the night, it would be easy for herself and Squirrel to blend in but The Weeping Monk was widely known and recognized for his markings under his eyes. Her eyes flickered to his face, almost unwillingly. She thought for a moment before she dismounted and pulled an old rag from her saddle bag and handed it up to Lancelot.</p>
<p>“Wrap it around your eyes, hide your-” she shoved the rag into his hand and watched impatient as he tied it securely behind his head. “Put your hood on and hand me the reins.”</p>
<p>Once she held the black horses reins in her hand, she climbed back aboard Old Boy and clicked him forwards, leading Lancelot and Squirrel behind her. Without his eyes and without his swords, hopefully he would blend in a little. The strangers eyed them briefly and then went about their business, safe in the knowledge none of them were Fey or wearing red cloaks. These people, they were peasants and were happy to exist outside of Holy War that was taking place very nearly on their doorstep.</p>
<p>Pym led the trio through the narrow muddy street and into the small lean to shed that was used for the inn’s guests horses, she dismounted and tethered both horses before lifting Squirrel down and cradling him gently in her arms while she waited for Lancelot to dismount. She didn’t offer him help, she knew he was more then capable of functioning even without his vision, she wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did. She frowned a little at the information, for someone she had said all of twenty words too, she was becoming more familiar with him.</p>
<p>She held the door open for him and watched as he stumbled into a chair in the darkness of the inn, she knew it was for show, she had seen him fight. He was graceful and sure of his feet at all times. She reached out and steadied him, holding his elbow even though the touch burned deep down into her soul. She had touched him before, healing hands of a physician, clinic and switched off. This was different, a different type of touch that echoed through her palm and radiated through her entire being. It took all of her self control not to jerk her hand away.</p>
<p>She quickly secured them a room, last one left according to the innkeeper, a lot of refugees had ridden through, displaced because of the war. She was almost grateful because she didn’t have to find a weak excuse to keep the Monk in her room. She knew Squirrel would want to bunk with him and she didn’t trust the cloaked warrior with him alone. She led Lancelot upstairs to their room and laid Squirrel gently on the double bed in the centre of the room.</p>
<p>“You can take that off now,” Pym murmured, mindful of the sleeping child. Lancelot done as he was told. “I will run out and get us some food and secure the horses. Please don’t - please look after him.”</p>
<p>Lancelot nodded and stepped back away from the door so she could sweep through it. She rushed down the stairs and out to the horses, she loosened their girth straps and gave them a drink and a nose bag with a little grain in the bottom. She hesitated before untying Lancelot’s swords from her saddle and buckling the belt around her waist, they felt awkward and heavy and far to big for her but she felt safer with them by her side.</p>
<p>There was a small marketplace just outside of the inn and a small clothing merchant caught her eye. She wandered over and eyed the clothes spread over tables and displays. A dark blue cloak caught her eye, it was well made and light under her fingers as she ran her finger tips over the hem, the midnight blue material was soft and Pym couldn’t stand seeing Lancelot wearing the cloak of the killer any longer. She fumbled with the swords, reaching into her satchel to pull out a couple of silver pieces to pay for it before she bundled it up and head back to the horses to retrieve their few belongings from the horses saddlebags.</p>
<p>She ordered three bowls of stew on the way back through the inn and climbed the stairs once again. She had only been gone ten minutes but her heart was beating way too fast in her chest as she pushed open the door into their room. She held back a sigh of relief to see Squirrel still asleep on the bed and Lancelot sitting straight backed in a chair by the window. She seen his eyes flick down to his swords at her hip but he didn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“Here.” She roughly tossed the new cloak at him. She expected a lot of things when she handed presented him the cloak but she didn’t expect him to slide to the ground on his knees when he seen the gift. He lifted the cloak and pressed his face into it and she was almost positive it was to hide his expression. He was silent for the longest time and Pym thought for a moment that she might have actually broken The Weeping Monk.</p>
<p>“I-” his voice muffled by the cloak before he raised his head and cleared his throat and tried again. “Thank you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i want to apologise for the short chapters but i'm really digging the changing perspective for each one. also i also like the idea of Lancelot having a few different magical gifts, one of the ones i've started to establish is that he can communicate with animals. he can <i>talk</i> to his horse and i like the idea that he was the one who sent the wolves after nimue. what do you guys think?<br/>Thanks for all the encouragement <br/>x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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